Life After Death After Life
by Accidie Vale
Summary: After finally escaping their zombie corpses, Scapegrace and Thrasher must learn to live with their new bodies and each other. In Scapegrace's quest to reclaim his title as Killer Supreme, and find out the truth behind rumours of a new evil league challenging the Dead Men, the two discover far more than they were expecting. Is the end Nye, or is this just the beginning? thrashgrace


Light was just starting to seep through the hole in the blinds when Thrasher awoke. He let out a soft whine of annoyance and promptly pulled the duvet tighter around himself in an attempt to block out its persistent beam. He was not in the mood for optimistic weather. There was an aggressive pounding in his skull similar to that of a clockwork monkey crashing symbols- if you have ever had the joy of such an experience- and he was sure that it was soon going to split apart. Of course, that was nearly impossible in this new body, but he still suffered nervous trauma from _the intestine incident_. A shiver passed along his spine just thinking about it. How awkward it had been to be a zombie; there was definitely no attending social occasions.

Patting his stomach gently just to check, he lifted the duvet away from his face to allow fresh air to enter his vicinity. It still amused him that he needed to breathe now, and the sensation of the air rushing into his lunges caused him to giggle. Sometimes he'd just lay there at night, breathing and grinning to himself, marvelling at his Master's achievement. Finding Nye had been a stroke of genius, and now they were free to start their new lives together.

From across the room he could hear the soft breathing of his partner in crime, his Master, or rather now his _Mistress_. Thrasher wasn't entirely sure how he should refer to him, her, _it_ anymore, but he was rather happy with the outcome of their transformations. Scapegrace looked good. The body he'd been given would have made a rather attractive model, Thrasher mused, preferably a lingerie-

"Uung," Scapegrace moaned from across the room in a voice now several octaves higher than before. Thrasher felt a smile cross his face and quietly sat up in his bed to look over- causing a flash of pain to shoot through his skull in the process.

Scapegrace was drooling face down on the pillow, resulting in his wet cheek being squashed into his eye. His blonde hair fell in a tangled mess around his head, and what looked suspiciously like a clot of sick was balled in the end. Very slowly and very quietly, so not to cause himself more pain, Thrasher placed his feet onto the cold lino and padded over to where Scapegrace lay. He extended a hand, much larger than his had ever been, and brushed away the congealed locks from Scapegrace's face_. Beautiful_, he thought as he let his fingers linger a little longer than was necessary.

"Mmm," mumbled Scapegrace from somewhere under Thrasher's hand, settling more comfortably against it. His eyelashes fluttered sleepily as he smiled in contentment, revelling in the comfort of his servant's touch. Thrasher smiled in response, running his finger first over Scapegrace's pink lips and then across his slightly spotty cheek. Scapegrace stirred, opening his eyes slightly, his expression remained peaceful for a moment but then rapidly changed to startled horror as he threw the duvet from him and dived off the bed.

"THRASHER?" he screamed, cursing under his breath at the pitch. "Why the hell are you _touching _me?"

"I'm sorry!" Thrasher wailed. "You just looked so peaceful and I wanted-"

"I know _exactly _what you wanted, and I'm telling you now that it is _never ever _going to happen!" Scapegrace cringed at the idea. "I may be stuck in this, this mockery of a body, but I am and always will be Scapegrace Killer Supreme! I mean, for a start we're _both men _for God's sake- and don't you dare tell me that I'm a woman now- but also and most importantly, I am far, _far _out of your league. Jesus, have you even _looked _at yourself lately? All that pathetic broody stubble growth, and stupid floppy hair, and ice blue eyes, and perfect muscles, and, and those lips…"

He coughed suddenly, averting his eyes from where they had been resting upon Thrasher's trembling frown. In actual fact, Thrasher was now several years younger and far better looking than he could have ever hoped to be. He was the generic standard for a magazine model, with a razor jawbone and perfect teeth. Women regularly approached him, much to his surprise and terror, and he had certainly been a hit last night at the bar. Thrasher managed a sad grimace as he remembered how Scapegrace had pouted when he'd let that blonde sit on his lap. He hoped that he was jealous.

Scapegrace sighed in defeat before continuing, "You're here to serve me and that means that you _have_ to learn to respect my boundaries. It's nothing personal, I'm just really uncomfortable with my body lately, and I don't want that kind of attention. You are not to touch me, okay?" His tone had softened, and as he looked at the distraught Thrasher it seemed as if he wanted to reach out and comfort him. Catching himself in disgust, he quickly added, "Or even look at me without my permission, you, you… _pervert_!"

"But Master, I don't-" Thrasher's eyes had started to water during Scapegrace's monologue, and now he looked set for a full scale breakdown.

"For God's sake Thrasher, grow some balls!" Scapegrace groaned. "_You_ would have made the perfect woman, but no, my highly masculine and unarguably testosterone charged self is stuck in here! And you know what; I think that this may be worse than being a zombie. There, I said it! At least people were afraid of me then, and I could throw some entrails or something if dicks tried to hit on me at the bar. It's not fair!" And with that Scapegrace too sunk onto the bed and began to cry.

"Master," Thrasher whispered, staring at Scapegrace in shock. "Master what's wrong? Please don't cry." There was no response as Scapegrace turned away, hiding behind the mess of hair veiling his face. Thrasher was panicking inside, wondering if someone had spiked Master's drink last night, or worse, that he was gravely ill. He couldn't allow him to be in such pain! "How about a nice tea, or crumpet? Crumpets make everything better!"

Scapegrace cackled maniacally from beneath his mane, rolling onto his stomach and then off of the bed onto the floor. "Thrasher, you beautiful servant, I would _love _some crumpets!" he managed to reply between giggles. "But make sure that they've got honey on- I can't eat crumpets without honey!"

Thrasher nodded and quickly retreated to the kitchen, closing the bedroom door behind him. Scapegrace had been acting weirdly all week, it was as if his already turbulent mood swings had entered overdrive and Thrasher was afraid. If there was one thing that he couldn't cope with it was lady rages. When Scapegrace got going on one of his moods it was as if nothing could stop him, take last night for example.

They had ventured out to a nightclub for some light relief from their current predicament, and Scapegrace had had a few too many shots. Barely standing against the bar he had been approached by a man, clearly attempting to take him home for the night- poor fellow. Before he knew what had hit him Scapegrace was screaming, possibly breaking the sound barrier, and was dragged out of the bar after he attempted to claw the man's face. Thrasher mentally groaned as he remembered trying to console Scapegrace and shepherd him to bed afterwards. Perhaps drinking wasn't the best idea until he was more emotionally stable.

Thrasher inserted two crumpets into the toaster and set it off before sauntering over to the tap to pour some water for tea. He loved making Master's breakfast- which was probably a good thing considering that it was an everyday occurrence- and so he hit the radio and began to dance along in jubilation.

Even when he tried to remember his 'life before',he could recall nothing as great as the feeling he got when he was serving master. It was ecstasy to him. Of course the zombie bond had been broken when the two men had been transferred to their new bodies, but Thrasher wasn't ever planning on telling Scapegrace that. In truth, there was something much stronger keeping him there.

The smell of crumpets was wafting through the house when Thrasher heard shrieking from the bathroom. He threw back the chair that he had been sitting in, causing it to crash onto the kitchen tiling, and sprinted the short distance to the bathroom before flinging open the door. Inside Scapegrace was sat on the toilet in apparent horror, slowly turning an alarming shade of white.

"What's happened?" Thrasher whispered.

"I'm bleeding!" Scapegrace moaned. "Thrasher, I think I'm on my period!"


End file.
